Thread by @SilasMiami, I'm an African film scholar in both practice and theory. I have [...]

I'm an African film scholar in both practice and theory. I have studied, taught, and practiced film for years having been a part of some truly incredible productions developed and shot on the continent. #BlackIsKing

has given me quite a bit to think about.
Let me unpack.

https://twitter.com/crissles/status/1290306615409696775

https://twitter.com/crissles/status/1290306615409696775

I have 3 rules in my classes. The first 2 are time and respect related. The 3rd is, “No Beyoncé slander is allowed.” They know It's a joke: an ice breaker, but I still encourage them to do a little bit more work when it comes to the exploration of output from Black entertainment.

I ask them to apply a more nuance to the works (and the reception of works) of Black people at the top of their game.
I’m not going to list the ways Beyonce continues to re-shape the audio-visual medium. I don’t need to. But I will share what her recent projects have meant to me.

Self-titled expanded my ideas of what was possible with a musical project. Lemonade forced me to engage with my own positionality and my privilege in reference to Black women. BIK however - did a lot more:

It made me realize that African celebration can be rich, spiritual, beautiful and deeply moving: everything I have ever aspired to make in my filmmaking.

The images in my head regarding what is possible within explorations of African filmmaking felt realistic. And beautiful.

This is important because despite my extensive experience, immense talent and hard-fought acquired skill set, creating work here is a painful experience. I’ve already gone into that in this thread: https://twitter.com/SilasMiami/status/1270579955408257025?s=20

https://twitter.com/SilasMiami/status/1270579955408257025?s=20

I have spent the past few days trying to understand why the backlash had an effect on me – this is not the first time Beyoncé has been exposed to hatefulness here.

But I am simply not convinced that the critique (some of which is valid) is coming from a place of sincerity.

The air is thick with disingenuous discourse that feels tied to something far more insidious. It goes beyond conversations about capitalism and cultural ownership: I think these are just (semi-valid) fillers. They have become the point of reference – the low hanging argument.

The nature of culture work such as films, musical projects and photography is that they accelerate social conversations by presenting them in relatively accessible ways: even if the works don’t get everything correct. Pair this with social media and we have social jet fuel.

Representation politics get messy. Nobody ever gets all of it right. Nobody. But that’s not the issue I see here. Underneath the ‘she doesn’t belong’ rhetoric is misdirected pain we may not be completely conscious of.

I believe a lot of us are feeling a deep emotional response, good or bad, because we, black people, African people, don’t actually know who we are (not really, anyway). I think parts of us want to recoil in fear of any re-discovery that is presented in a form we’re not used to.

We reject what we don’t understand. So, what happens when something is suddenly presented to you – something you’re told should be 'you' – and all the loss from generations before us (a loss that is ingrained in our genetics as our inherited trauma) bubbles up to the surface?

Beyonce, whether she knows it or not, whether she intended to or not, helped kick that door open. This is a door that decolonization practices have been trying to help push open for decades. Their work is what this project is built on.

I’m not going to speak on specific dissenting views: that’s a whole academic course on its own and I feel like many have already counter-argued in the project’s defense.

Here's what I'll share:

About 8 months ago, I met my ancestors. And it has influenced how I consumed BIK.

I sought them through my phenomenal Sangoma (a beautiful queer man) & they answered. They have always been here but I'm now able to commune with them. I was sent to the water to call on them. Then later I was sent to the water to cleanse. It was the water in BIK that spoke to me.

I could hear my people rejoicing as I watched it.
I could hear my warrior ancestors taking a seat to listen.
I could hear the women from my mother’s side gasping along with me. It made me swear never to touch another project unless it celebrated all the things that make me - me.

#BlackIsKing

made me feel proud to be Black and African: to love even the parts I was brought up to hate (I was not surprised when that the religious brigade entered the chat to try and link it to demonic work, lol - super on-brand).

I’m not going to tell you how to feel about BIK. I’m certainly not going to engage in the pervasive misogynoir that follows Bey by arguing about her intentions or debating the excellence inherent to her work.

However, I'm going to ask you to find your people. Your ancestors.

As a filmmaker, this project made me see very little in the way of limits: it made me feel like my ridiculously massive ambitions aren’t as crazy as I initially thought they were.

It reinforced the fact that work made on land that was stolen can mean more than just trauma.

Years of studying: years of lecturing: even more of making really amazing work - and this made me weep. I am honored to have been here to see an imagined Africa that moves the world. Somehow, she's managed to make my work feel more valid.

That's what #BlackIsKing

means to me.

I'm going to end this thread here

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